


The Taming of the Dragon

by Anonymous



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aggressor aroused by victim’s helplessness, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Battle of Winterfell | Final Battle Against the White Walkers, F/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Night King rides his dragon. Daenerys adapts her strategy.
Relationships: Night King (Game of Thrones)/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anon Works, Smut 4 Smut 2020





	The Taming of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lafoga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafoga/gifts).



The snow seeped through her hair, chilled her neck. She dug her hands into the ground, tried to push herself back up; she was barely on her feet when someone else's hands dug into her hair and pulled, hard. Daenerys grunted as her head was forced back. 

More hands now, as the dead swarmed; she felt them at her neck, and her collarbone, her back, her hips, even through the warm furs and leathers she'd worn for protection. Strong hands. They didn't stop her panting screams. She felt, more than heard, as those warm fabrics were torn. Her breasts spilled out, nipples hardening in the air, and then the tunic was off entirely, and her hips were bared, and her legs. Her boots were stripped off last, leaving her feet scrambling and slipping on the cold. Daenerys closed her eyes, unable to turn her head enough to see if anyone else was within shouting range, unwilling to see the things looming above her. 

They lowered her back onto the frozen ground, every limb secure in a tight grip as cold as the snow against her skin. Her arms were stretched to the point of pain. Her legs were pushed up and spread as far as they could go. Daenerys whimpered, eyes still shut. Despite the chill, she was not numb; she felt everything: the strain on her muscles, her breath as it formed a cloud above her mouth, the way her lips had dried, and of course the cold, unrelenting in the face of the heat which had fueled her all through her life. The snow slid into the crack of her ass. Her cunt was dusted with it, the ice melting slowly against her folds, dripping into her. She trembled from it. 

Her hair, at least, had been released now that she was down. None of them touched her, beyond keeping her spread and immobile. She was being displayed. 

Daenerys opened her eyes at the realization, and forced her breathing to slow down. She knew what was coming. Unlike the girl she’d been the first time, she would face it. Literally, given the position her body had been arranged in. 

Still, her trembling grew when he approached, as silent as his dead. His horns gleamed in what light her dragons made as they flew without her. She did not wish them to come. She would not bear another child lost. 

He knelt between her legs. One finger pressed lightly against her cunt; Daenerys threw her head back and screamed while a cold deeper than anything she’d felt thus far went through her bones. Was this what it was like to burn, she thought distantly, as soon as her body let her escape the totality of the sensation; she could hear herself still screaming. Her throat was hoarse with it. 

When she had regained enough self-control to lift her head again, she noted the small stretch of his lips. He was smiling. So, he was capable of feeling, despite the nature of the element he commanded and seemed to embody. His cruelty was that of a man. 

Her cunt ached, and he’d barely touched her. He dragged the finger up, tracing circles over her clit, the same light touch as before. His long nail added roughness to it. Daenerys felt her hips trying to thrash, to buck, to get away from the pain or lean into the pressure. The strain left her gasping. There was no escaping the grip of the dead still restraining her, or the touch of their king. He was using both hands now, stroking her belly and then brushing over her stiff nipples, raking his nails over them, cupping her breasts. She could no longer tell if she was screaming, or if her body had given up on the endeavor entirely. She was reduced to feeling. She could only tell where his hands were, where his fingers pressed cold against her. She felt them lower now, back on her cunt; it was followed by a moment of respite, of them being gone. Daenerys had just become conscious of it, to find relief as time passed by, when they settled on her ass and he pushed inside her. 

She had known better than to think it over, and yet she had needed to feel it was. It was the last thought Daenerys had for some time. There was only the slap of his cold balls against her cunt, her cries at every thrust as it happened, over and over. He stretched her open around him; somehow she was still warm inside, though the cold filled her more deeply than ever. She mewled for him. The dead hands which had restrained her loosened their grip, and he pinned her down without their aid, fingers digging into her ass while she wriggled. Her legs were unsteady on either side of him, her arms as useless. Daenerys could not lift them, only let them tremble with every surge of pain and pleasure. 

At last, she felt a chill spurt as he shook, and he was done. The tension in her body dissipated without release. This was the mysterious Night King. Fought, led armies, got hard, and raped like any man might, finding the same pleasure in taking her which most men since Drogo had only imagined. No more than that, despite the power which kept him alive and allowed him to maintain a hold over those who were not. 

Daenerys wondered why she wasn’t one of them. She understood why he hadn’t killed her at first; she had seen him enjoy her reactions, his effect on her body. Still, he seemed to be winter itself, in how his touch pierced her. 

Yet she was not frozen to death, had not died while he fucked her. She had retained the powers of her mind and will, though she lacked the ability to exert them. Could it be that, just as her dragon had been unable to burn him, her new rapist was unable to use his magic on her? He was ice to his core, but she was fire. 

If he was surprised by her continuing to live, or thinking along the same lines as she, he didn’t show it. No expression crossed his face now. Daenerys lay where he left her, limbs splayed in the snow, and watched him adjust his clothes and armor. She caught her first glimpse of his cock, now her head was clear enough to notice its appearance: blue-white and big like the rest of him. The memory made her ache harder. 

Would he kill her now, or leave her here? Let her be killed to join his dead, bend her will to his as he had done with her body, while he went off to find his real target? Could her will be bent, if his magic had not yet changed her? She met his eyes, looking for a hint of his intentions, seeing none. Her breath caught when he leaned down. He tweaked her nipples—she let out a high-pitched cry—and then his hands went around her back, her hips, as she was lifted and placed over his shoulder. Daenerys couldn’t have fought or fled, was too drained even if she had known what he would do, but instinct compelled her to attempt thrashing, and she whimpered, unable to scream. In the battlefield, there might have been hope. Captivity promised worse. She tried to think through the implications. Had he wanted her all along, and if he had, was she his only goal in this battle? He smacked her ass; she gasped at the impact on the bruises and scratches he’d already left there.

Her own goals narrowed. She felt her quest for the throne, to be a just queen, to make the world better, to have purpose and joy, even to win on the battlefield here, recede. They could only be fulfilled after two things had happened: her survival, and this monster’s—this man’s—death. It was clear they had been wrong about what he wanted, and what she could do to him. She would discover the truth. That he wished to keep her alive with him gave her time. 

She knew how she might extend it. 

The light of dragon fire shone on the dirty, blood-riddled snow around them as she was carried off. Daenerys lifted her head and kept her eyes open.


End file.
